Rourke
When I pull into the driveway, I’m satisfied to see Patricia’s car is still here, even though I’m late. I contacted her this morning, requesting she stay after my mother’s physical therapy so I could speak with her on the progress of my mother’s recuperation from her stroke.
With a glance I see the large lawn needs another cut ahead of the normal every two weeks and make a mental note to contact the lawn service. It’s the house I grew up in, and it’s more like home to me than the million-dollar mansion I bought several years ago. A large, rambling four-bedroom ranch on a large lot, I want to make sure it’s maintained the way my father would want it to be.
As I’m almost an hour late, I’m surprised to find Patricia closing up the special, thicker mat my mother does her physical therapy on in the den. The den used to be my father’s space and only holds a wall of books, his writing desk and a chair.
“Was there a problem today? Are you only now wrapping up her therapy?”
“No problems on her therapy. When she got the call you would be late she was rather...sad, so we got to talking for a while when we finished. It’s actually something I wanted to talk to you about. She is doing very well, making great progress. I’m impressed with her, even if she isn’t. There’s—I’m just going to say it; your mother is lonely. Her loneliness could be hindering her recuperation for a variety of reasons: she feels why bother since there is nothing she’s missing out on, and she has no one to urge her on or share her goals with. I understand you are busy, please don’t think this is about you. If only all my clients had family who cared about them as much as you do about your mother...but she needs something more.”
I roll my shoulders, tension eating away at me. “This isn’t news. Mom is an introvert in every sense of the word. She doesn’t like going out, and it’s difficult for her to make friends. One of her best friends died a few months ago. Her only other real friend, a neighbor, moved to California last year. I’ve been trying to get her to move in with me since the stroke. My home is large; we would each have our own space while also being able to come together for meals and in the evening. There is a room made up for her. She’s being stubborn about staying in her own home. I’d move in here, but there isn’t a whole lot of room. My hours are almost nocturnal, my clock hasn’t reset yet to this time zone. I’m also still handling three properties in France and Italy. None of that is conducive to creating a restful environment for her.”
“Neither of those things would be good for her, it would make her feel like a burden. She is quite preoccupied with not being a burden on you. I would like to suggest having a CNA live in, versus coming in during the evening and overnight.”
“We already did that. It was my concession to her coming home instead of living with me. The situation only lasted a week, she didn’t like Raylene.”
“It was a whole new situation for her, and she was still grappling with the changes and her limitations at the time. Remember, it might seem like months, but it’s only been thirty days since the stroke and eighteen days since she came home. In home healthcare you get to know other home healthcare workers and their reputations. I’m not surprised Cheryl and Raylene didn’t get along. Raylene is a little... overwhelming.
“I have someone I believe your mother would get along with very well. Olivia Casey has been a CNA for six years. Last year she became a licensed practical nurse. She missed the signup this semester; however, she will also be going to school to get licensed as an RN, a registered nurse. She is a calming influence, fun, kind, sweet, tough but so nice about it the patient barely sees it. Olivia works best with kids and older patients. You and Cheryl are lucky her latest patient assignment is ending in a few days—she is in demand. The boy’s family is moving to Seattle, and they love her so much they offered her twice her fee to move with them. She considered it, but she loves Austin and has family here, so she didn’t want to leave.”
“She hasn’t booked another assignment?” I’d hate to get into a bidding war, it wouldn’t matter, I would win. It would, however, be an inconvenience.
“When I talked to her yesterday about Cheryl, she hadn’t yet. She’s open to meeting Cheryl to see if they will be a good fit.”
“Did you talk to my mother about this?”
“Yes, I mentioned she seemed lonely. I told her about Olivia. Cheryl wasn’t exactly excited by the suggestion at first. So I took a different tack and couched it as Olivia being the one who needed help. How she was looking for a new assignment soon, or else she would be back to sleeping in her sister’s spare room. Cheryl was more open to it after that.”
I consider her suggestion. When I first met Patricia, I wasn’t sure what to think of her. In her mid-forties, black, very thin, with her hair buzzed short and a blunt, no-nonsense attitude, I worried my mother and she would clash. My mother doesn’t like anyone being bossy; she puts up with me out of love, she often reminds me. Yet they got along as if they had known each other for years. I’d had Patricia checked out, as is my standard protocol for people who will be close to me and my mother. I respected her for working her way through several intensive years of school to become a physical therapist while she had two children to raise. I like her blunt nature and respect her opinion. “I want to meet her first. Have her call me as soon as possible.”
Patricia nods. “I will.”
“Good. When did my mom lie down for her nap?”
“Only twenty minutes ago. You’re likely to have a long wait, she was exhausted. She tried to push herself today.”
I thank Patricia as I see her outside, carrying the large mat she uses for her. Since I have time, I pull out my briefcase from my car. It’s time to make decisions. My manager for my downtown hotel, Denise, left two months ago. While my restaurant and bar team in the hotel is running seamlessly up to my high standards, supervised by Caleb as they have been for the last five years, my hotel team once under Denise is unstable on an almost daily basis.
As far as Denise was concerned, this was all my fault for leaving Austin, the responsibility for the hotel was too much for her. Which was bullshit, in the two years before I left, she called me once maybe twice a month about something. There was also the fact her running the hotel on her own was her job description. I ignored her whining for what it was, a thinly veiled attempt to bring me back to Austin permanently.
When I hit the billionaire mark three years ago I decided to start enjoying what I worked hard for while I still had time. And I had worked hard, nearly twenty-four seven, to make my three hotels and four clubs the best they could be. I was on construction sites for my commercial building and property investments more than I was in the office. So I bought a jet and headed to the Bahamas, where I enjoyed the sun and the surf and the beautiful women. Within two weeks I was bored out of my mind. I made my way to St. Tropez. After a few weeks there, I was again bored. On a whim I purchased a one-star hotel, and within only a few months
I flipped it into a four-star and sold it for six times what I paid for it.
The itch started and I did it again in Rome, Athens, Paris, Madrid, and Mallorca. While it was work, in a way it wasn’t. I took my time with each property, enjoying the nights with beautiful women, good food, and taking in the city sites and nightlife. There was also the relief of knowing while I was turning the hotels around, I had every intention of selling them off.
I found myself in Monaco, a city built for pleasure seekers. Casinos that never closed, beautiful women searching for wealthy men and willing to do whatever was asked of them, fast cars, faster boats. It was paradise with an address. I gambled often, winning a house, a hotel, a chateau in Tours and a boutique hotel in Florence. Monaco was slowly feeling like home when I got the call about my mom. I’d left the same day to find my mother unable to speak and my downtown hotel, the jewel in my whole damn portfolio, in a constant state of chaos.
I was hoping to leave Franklin, Denise’s second for years, as the person in charge. After how things have gone, though, he’ll be lucky if I keep him on at all. My patience is at an end for the frequent phone calls and the daily urgent texts and emails. With the music and movie festival coming up that takes over Austin in March, only thirty days from now, I need my hotel running as smoothly as if it were on glass. I’m already in back-to-back planning meetings to confirm shit we settled months ago. During the festival I’m running twenty-four hours a day between my three hotels, four clubs, and the different festival events and panels I get asked to participate in. The last thing I need is to worry about the hotel as well.
I bypass my father’s den to head for the dining room table. Even though my father died almost fifteen years ago, I’m still not comfortable working in his den. My father was a larger than life guy and the few times I tried working in it, I felt like a little kid playing at being an adult. Which is kind of funny because at six foot four, I’m two inches taller than he was. But my dad was a barrel-chested guy, built like a tank; even though I’m all muscle, I’m leaner with a broad chest. Several times my mom has told me I’m bigger than Dad, but that’s not the way I remember it.
At the kitchen table I open my briefcase and pull out employee files from my three hotels for everyone who has what it takes to replace Denise. My downtown hotel is my star hotel, with a five-star Michelin rated restaurant, the exclusivity of the hotel with every bell and whistle, from a pool on the roof, to butlers and maids for the four penthouses and presidential suite with a jacuzzi on the large terrace looking out over downtown. It is the place to stay in Austin. There is a club attached, a club everyone in Austin is trying to get into every night of the week, and when the stars came to town it’s where they all party.
The five files were picked by Doreen, my assistant for the last eleven years. She’s sharp and sees through bullshit and is one of the few people in my life who isn’t afraid of me.